A Beast in Writing
by SparrowKing
Summary: "I can't help what happens, I may write the stories but I am just as powerless as every other Fable in this 'Promise Land'. So be a dear and don't come to me with your problems. I have enough already." [Rated - M for violence, strong language, suicidal attempts/thoughts & sexual situations] (Better story inside!)


Hey Before you read!

**[Edited!]**

Yes this is another "OC placed inside the main story" Fanfiction. But mine is going to be a little different, and more dark. My Oc wont be all up in Bigby's ass from the start to the end of the investigation. He'll pop up in some of the situations where main events might happen, but wont be changing or adding anything to the main plot.

And because of how my character is he will probably to be drunk to care about the investigation or already know the outcome and don't want to get involved.

Yes my character is going to be a raging alcoholic (Sometimes he'll be over emotional), along with being a cold hearted bastard.

Let's begin!

Huff & Puff and Ibuprofen

**KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!**

That noise sounded almost like the devil was scraping his sharp, inhuman finger nails again a good old fashioned Chalkboard. Well it sounded like that to the drunk that had thrown himself onto the couch not even an hour ago. The bedroom seemed to far of a walk for the intoxicated male.

The drunk buried his face deeper into the couch in hope that the pillows and the couch cushion would muffle the hellish noise. The smell of alcohol and cigarettes filled his nose. That smell came from both him and his couch. He had slept on the couch so many times in a drunken sleep that his couch was beginning to smell of it.

The knocking had stopped for a few seconds, and to this drunk it almost seemed like a lifetime. For sleep had already captured him. But the next three, hard rasps against the wooden door and the drunk groaned loudly. It was a hangover groan that was mixed with the want to slee, and the intention to kill if this wasn't important.

"Open up the door, It's me, Ichabod. I need to speak with you, it's urgent."

The drunk couldn't help but to slowly lift his head at his early caller. The pillows that covered his had had rolled down his back and landed on the floor. His last chance of hiding was now on the floor, and to far for him to grab.

From the blinding sun that made his eyes water, it had to be around seven or eight in the morning. But to the male it felt like ten at night and knowing his schedule like the back of his hand he wouldn't wake up until seven, eight-ish in the afternoon and stumble to the "Trip trap" and repeat.

But Ichabod? Making a personal house call? What was the occasion? The government of Fabletown knew _gift_ couldn't be used to fix their problem they had. And even if it could he wasn't going to. It would not only break their precious rules, but he would be breaking a couple of rules that had been with him since he started writing their lives.

He had done enough for them already. He created the Exodus because of their whining, and even after getting to this city they still whined acting like spoiled children because they had to work for once in their life.

In this land life was not a fairy tale. Nothing worked out in the end, good never won, only evil did in this land. There was no Princes or princesses, no castles or talking animals. They had to work and adapt to this new world.

But the drunk saw no way he could get out of this. Crane would just keep knocking until the drunk came home or till he answered the door. And if he didn't answer the phone his phone would keep going off until he finally gave in. So if he didn't answer now, he wouldn't get any sleep.

But Crane visiting him? It must have been important. On a normal day Crane had someone, mostly Snow, call and leave a message. And within the week the drunk would report in. Probably hungover or just waking from a drunken sleep.

Was it worth all the trouble?

**KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!**

"Bloody f-cking hell!" He groaned.

" - _With no words spoke, Ichabod Crane opened the now unlocked door and stepped in. His nose cringed at the discusting smell of booze and cigarettes. But nevertheless he entered and shut the door behind him. END - _"

Even though a second ago he sounded like a grumpy alley cat that had been thrown into a pool. His voice was now rich and soft like chocolate. After he spoke the loud _click_ of a lock as the door unlocked itself, and opened letting the old man into the smelly apartment.

There was a loud discussed noise as Crane entered and shut the door behind him. It wasn't just for the smell of booze and cigarettes, it was also for the mess that cluttered and formed small half taken care of trash piles in the drunks apartment.

There were a couple of trash bags that held cans, others held bottles, and a couple of boxes held the glass bottles of what use to have alcohol. Despite the smell and look of the place everything was pretty organized.

The upset, and hungover drunk had sat up, the blood rushing from his head. Leaning foward he rested on his elbows that rested on his knees. Breathing in rubbed his face before he exhaled. Even though he was drunk it still took him forever to sleep, so when he did finally manage to sleep, BAM! Some one had to knock at his door.

"Mr. Crane," He said sleep hanging off his words" Please take a seat." He motioned to the chair that sat across from him. A glass coffee table would sit between them and on this table were the fresh clutter of empty Huff & Puffs, and cheap bear cans that hadn't been placed in trash bags.

His place was actually pretty clean compared to before. When he took on roommates, they actually cleaned up the pig pen he called a place. That was their rent, cleaning up the small apartment. The drunk didn't expect much of the cleaning. They did what they could and the drunk did his best to do his part.

Because of their size and lack of money they couldn't go out and get jobs. With fear of going to the Farm, the male took them in and gave them a place to hide. He didn't get many visitors and his last roommate ran out on him. So they could hide and be somewhat free here.

Crane moved through the apartment, doing his best not to trip of the trash bags. It didn't take much to know he was discussed at the place. And with all honesty the drunk didn't care. When Crane got to the chair he picked up a glass bottle with what looked like Scotch. A half empty bottle the drunk gladly took from Crane.

"So what's with the house call?" He asked setting the bottle as his feet as he started rummaging through the empty Huff & Puffs looking for one that held at least one or two cigarettes. "I know its not to clean my place. I'm wiped from the records so no one would come to visit me. F-ck, I doubt anyone knows I'm still alive. Or even exist."

Satisfied with finding one, he pulled the cheap cigarette from a crumbled pack and put it to his lips. After the long silence of lighting the cancer stick and taking a long and much needed drag he looked up at the silent Crane. It took him a few seconds before realizing that he wasn't glamoured. On a normal day, or outside his apartment, he was semi glamoured.

There wasn't need for him to buy glamour. He could change his to and from Mundie anytime he wanted. He bought to "help" the Fable world. Everyone knows that their secret world needed help. Plus he needed some just in case he got to drunk and forgot where he was.

If he wasn't glamoured the first thing people would notice would he his freakish face. He had a drawn back mouth that stretched to his ears, and instead of curving up, it curved down to his jaw. Sharp Caine like teeth showed up as clear as day and as it lead to where a normal mouth would be, he had almost normal, but still sharp teeth, and normal lips.

He almost looked like that psycho clown from the famous movies, video games, and comics, Batman. What lay under his mouth were actually another set of teeth, teeth no one has or will ever see. It was a secret he kept to himself, after all he was cleaned from the records and wanted to keep it that way.

His spine, and at the angle he was leaning, looked to bend at an awkward angle. Making it seem like his spine would break through his skin with the slightest ease if he were to lean forward just a little bit more.

The next thing had to be the four pitch black wings that were placed on his back. Two of them were at his shoulder blades, where Mundies assumed wings should be, and the other two were on his lower back, just above his hips, the real place where wings should be.

Taking another drag from his cigarette he forced himself to look like a Mundie. The green light and the cracking sound of bone filled the livingroom of the apartment. Crane flinched at the sound. After the sound of snapping bones, the cracking of what sounded like muscles and veins would make anyone, no matter how big and bad, cower in fear.

There was a soft cry of pain from the drunk. Only because his changing form didn't sit well with his throbbing headache. It was also pain for to forcefully hide four large wings under a thing layer of Mundie like skin.

Clearing his throat Crane spoke, doing his very best not to be effected by whole thing that had played out in front of him. For Crane had never really seen the drunks real form only Blue beard and Cole had seen what the drunk looked like.

"Mr. Meyer, I'm not here on Fabletown Business, I'm here on a personal matter." Crane was about to explain while the drunk, Mr. Meyer, went through the clutter on the table for a small white bottle that would hold his relief.

"Dross." Dross corrected once he held the bottle in his hand.

"Excuse me?" Crane asked.

"Call me Dross, I feel old when people call me "Mr. Meyer"." Dross said dumping some of the pills into his hand.

"Alright, Dross." Crane corrected himself as he watched Dross chase down the pills with scotch. "I'm here on a personal matter, a matter only you can help me with."

Taking a drag from his cigarette he leaned back and rose a dark eye brow at the old man.

"Personal? And I'm guessing your current power wont over throw this Fable?" Dross' voice was sharp and harsh. Of course it involved another Fable, when his powers wont work come to the male who wrote the stories.

Despite how pissed he was. He was actually curious what the request might be.

"Drosselmeyer... I need your help." Crane's voice trailed.


End file.
